Last Christmas
by writerdragonfly
Summary: /"Stiles?" Derek's voice is quiet, calming. Instead of responding, Stiles just looks at him. He catalogs Derek's face like this is the last time he'll see it. Maybe it is. Maybe this is his last chance./ Apocalypse AU, Canon-divergence.


For halekingsourwolf on tumblr for the Sterek Haven Secret Santa.

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><p>It's late in December, somewhere around Christmas if Stiles had to guess. They haven't seen another living person in almost three weeks. Evidence that people are surviving, yes. But an actual breathing person who could talk? Not so much.<p>

The jeep had finally died somewhere in Arizona or Nevada, they had never been quite sure where. Derek had stolen a car from an abandoned service station after two days of walking, a beat up old station wagon that was probably older than Stiles. Derek had needed to replace a few parts on it with what little was left behind, but they were back on the road after a few days of sleeping in the staff room of the station, equipment pushed up against the windows and the door. Once they had cleared the bodies, anyway.

They didn't have much for possessions. The jeep had been full of college brochures and informational packets, a few days worth of clothes for either of them, and Stiles' backpack with his laptop inside. But now, they were down to two bags, one of which was empty. Three shirts and a jacket between them, the ragged pants they'd been wearing for weeks, a pair of boots half a size too small that Stiles had pulled off a body in October (Derek's original shoes run ragged way past their normal use and he'd been forced to abandon them a few days ago), and the backpack half full of food and pictures of Laura. Derek's phone had snapped in half when they'd fought with a pack of wild dogs in a half destroyed city in Illinois, and Stiles had his stolen in Iowa. Not that it had mattered, since they'd been without cell service since the middle of September.

That had been the last time he'd spoken to his dad, the last time they'd gotten updates from the pack.

_Three months ago._

-x-

Derek had kissed Stiles for the first time in November. They'd been sitting in the jeep in an abandoned barn, just talking to each other because there wasn't anything else they could do and the idea of sleep was at times something incomprehensible. Stiles had told Derek he was thankful for him being there, and Derek just leaned over and pressed his dry, cracked lips to Stiles'. Simple as that.

Stiles doesn't remember who moved first when things sped up. But someone did, at any rate, and it didn't take long before they were tasting and groping and feeling each other, lips and tongue and hands and skin.

It felt like a natural progression. It felt right. But they didn't talk about it, about what it was or what it meant.

They'd been mostly on their own since the beginning of September, since the world fell apart. And it was good.

So they didn't talk about it, but they didn't stop doing it. They spent their nights entwined in each other after that, sharing long kisses and splaying fingers across each other.

And now, a month later, they were finally approaching Beacon Hills. The place where Stiles had left his sometimes girlfriend and where Derek had a casual relationship.

They were approaching the one place they'd been heading for since the mess had started, towards home and pack and familiarity.

A part of Stiles didn't want to go if it meant not having this.

But they didn't talk about feelings. About how it felt to be utterly and totally reliant on each other for protection and comfort. About how it felt like coming home every time they curled up and pressed their foreheads together, whispering secrets normally unspoken about things they had done and guilt they carried. So as Derek pulled the station wagon into the driveway of a lone house off the road, Stiles said nothing.

He thinks it might be Christmas Eve, though he has no way of telling for sure. He scouts the little house with Derek, and thinks that maybe he should call it Christmas Eve either way. Because this is it. This is the last night they'll have before they reach Beacon Hills. This could be their last night together. It's certainly their last night alone.

As much as he wants to see his dad again, as much as he hopes that he's still alive and okay in Beacon Hills, he thinks he might want Derek with him more. He feels guilty about it because it's his dad and he's all his dad has left.

But he's all Derek probably has left too.

-x-

Stiles hadn't really wanted to visit the University of Maine campus. He'd only applied because it's where his mother had gone, but his dad's eyes had been wet when he got the campus visit invitation. He and his dad had driven there together, pulling up to the campus late in the afternoon the Friday before Labor Day. His dad had gotten called back for an emergency with the water pipes at the station and an irate plumber, and flown out Saturday afternoon. Stiles promised to keep in contact when he made his way back. It should have been easy.

He got the phone call from Derek when he'd been getting ready to head out from his motel in Albany on Monday morning, and from there it was easy to pick him up in New York City and head for home.

Neither Stiles nor Derek had stopped to think about why the flights had been grounded, too distracted by arguing over which roads to take and what music was better. They'd been driving for a few hours when his dad had called Derek and _everything changed_.

That night had been the last night of peace-the last night they slept comfortably and safely.

They're in their motel room that night-the only available one is a single, one bed. But they make do. News reports blare on the television, half confirmed reports of the nation's descent into war. No one seems to know exactly with who or why, but there are already casualties. Washington DC is apparently already a ruin of destroyed monuments of the country's history.

When it comes to pass, it's not one of those premonitions or myths about how the world will end. There isn't a supernatural upheaval or an alien invasion. No, the end comes on the heels of Derek finally putting his past behind him, and it's a human wrought apocalypse. And he can honestly admit that this one is not his fault.

In the end, humanity is ruined by the humans, not the monsters.

Traffic is infinitely worse from then on out. Back roads and poorly maintained gravel roads are the only reason they're not stuck stalled on a highway somewhere. What should have taken two days has already taken a week. And then the cell service drops out completely. The next motel doesn't even have electricity.

They catch a radio broadcast while they're sleeping in the jeep one night, a kind farmer who let them park in his drive turning his old radio up to blasting. "New York City was leveled today, the first of several strikes against the U.S. Officials suggest Chicago and Dallas are the next likely targets in this spree of attacks."

They end up staying with the farmer for a week, unable to leave. They fortify his home and protect him as best they can until his son arrives with a little girl and blood on his face.

It's a sign that nothing is okay.

Stiles doesn't know if his dad could have handled everything in Derek's place. There were too many close calls where Derek barely made it out alive. Too many nights where they were both exhausted but too wired on adrenaline and hyper-vigilance to sleep.

He knows his dad is strong and brave and... and he also knows that there's a chance his dad's desire to protect people might mean that, when he finally gets back to Beacon Hills, his dad won't be there anymore. That if he'd been with Stiles on this long trip home, he might have died trying to protect someone. Trying to protect him.

"**Stiles**." Derek barks and he blinks at him, a little surprised and a little confused.

He'd meant to turn their night in this stranger's abandoned house into something he could carry with him into Beacon Hills and the pack and his Dad and Scott and a different kind of life. But instead he is freaking out.

Because they were so close to knowing, finally knowing. Knowing if the other people they cared about were alive, knowing if they had made this journey for a reason or if it had all been a mistake.

He doesn't regret picking up Derek and his final box of Laura's things and he doesn't think he could for a moment, even if Derek hadn't saved his life countless times in the past three agonizing months. Because he is in love with Derek and he has been for a long time.

He doesn't regret leaving New York when he did, before the state became a ruin of smoke and ash.

But he thinks he could regret them moving further this way, leaving the old man and his son and granddaughter at the farm where they built him a barricade and helped him gather his vegetables. He could regret leaving the jeep behind in the desert, regret leaving the barn where they kissed and slept together for the first time.

If everyone they were trying to get home to is gone, he thinks he could regret a lot of things.

"Stiles?" Derek's voice is quiet, calming. Instead of responding, Stiles just _looks_ at him. He catalogs Derek's face like this is the last time he'll see it. Maybe it is.

Maybe this is his last chance. Maybe tomorrow they'll walk into Beacon Hills and Derek will see Braeden and he'll pull her into his arms and forget how much he made Stiles feel. How much he made Stiles want and hope and care.

"What do you want for Christmas, Derek?" It's not what Stiles means to say. He isn't sure what he means to say, to ask. _I'm in love with you or one last time? Let's go to bed?_

"What do I want? For Christmas?" Derek asks, an eyebrow raised.

"Yes, Derek. What do you want for Christmas?" Stiles repeats, looking away from him.

"I've already got what I want."

Stiles looks at him again. If there is anything he knows by now, he knows Derek. Derek isn't lying when he says that he's already got what he wants.

"So do I." Stiles says, and the smile Derek gives him is blinding.

-x-

They leave the house just after dawn. It doesn't take more than a few hours before the scenery begins to fade into something more familiar. Beacon Hills, when they reach the city limits, looks as worn-down, looted, and empty as most of the cities they'd passed through had.

They're close to his house when the street is blocked off by a crude wall. Derek pulls over and they look around for a break somewhere to get through. A whistle cuts through the mostly quiet air, a sharp shrill sound.

Derek notices her first, a dark shape at the top of the wall. He nods his head toward her and Stiles smiles when she pulls down her hood.

Kira grins back down at them.

They follow her from the ground on foot until they finally reach a way through. It's a house that Stiles vaguely recognizes as a neighbors, the edges of the wall butting up alongside either side of it. She slips inside from the top, meeting them at the door.

Kira lets them into the house and leads them right back out through the kitchen, which was completely stripped bare. They take only a few steps out when Stiles sees them.

His father is standing on their front porch half a block away, Scott racing forward ahead of him.

He doesn't know if anyone else is alive yet, but he has this. They have this. Scott and Kira and his dad.

Derek grabs his hand and squeezes, a reassuring gesture that he returns.


End file.
